Of Skin and Bone
by Scifiroots
Summary: Series of connected one-shots set after the third movie. Alternating focus on Jack and Will. Jack/Will primarily... Will/Liz canon... Tia occasionally plays a role. Norrington/Liz a bit.
1. Lost At Sea

Lost at Sea

By Clarity Scifiroots

Regular disclaimers apply, I'm dabbling in someone else's sandbox.

Pairings: Jack/Will unrequited (?), Will/Elizabeth (sidelines)

Rating: Mature, bordering on Adults Only

Warnings: Signs of het (vague moments of J/E and J/Tia... but not really)

Summary: Jack's time in the Locker is not easily shaken. (AWE)

Solitude does more than drive a man to tears. The monotony of being truly alone eats away at the brain until reality vanishes entirely. Not that there has ever been much logic in the domain into which he's been cast. In moments growing ever fewer and farther between, Captain Jack Sparrow recognizes that his questionable sanity has taken flight across the wasteland. He doesn't particularly care to attempt chasing it; he can't remember which way it went. Even with the perfectly clear, pale blue sky, he cannot see a speck out of place that might indicate its direction.

Jack occupies himself most days – and yes, he has come to formulate his own sense of time in this monotonous place – with the tasks of caring for his ship. A crew of Sparrow duplicates scurries about under his orders, though they vary in disposition as much as any crew he's had the fortune to command. He raises an eyebrow at the nervous man scooting towards the lone goat on board. There's another who swings about and drops down out of nowhere to screech like that damnable undead monkey formerly belonging to his traitorous first mate. There's even a Sparrow who busies himself more often than not telling tall tales with wild gesticulations and a disconcerting accent akin to Mister Gibbs'. At the helm he has placed the Sparrow with rather feminine curves, especially since he snarks at the Captain with spirit true to AnaMaria; how she – he – came to be on board, Jack will never know.

With all of these disturbing mirror-images aboard, one would think that he would be terrified. But they are merely disorienting at worst and quite chummy at best. The companions that scare him witless are the ones that remind him of the reality he'd been ripped from; these companions do not wear his face.

The rogue governor's daughter is the first non-Sparrow he sees. He dodges her for as long as he can until one day he enters his cabin to find Miss Swann lounging in her cream-colored shift on his bunk. Jack swallows uncomfortably but can't make himself turn away. She looks at him casually and tilts her head in question.

"What is it, Jack? Aren't you tired? Come lay down." She sits up, swinging her legs off the side and pats the bedding. At his wary look she laughs and stands up. "Really, Jack. Your _lack_ of virtue is safe from me. I am a respectable lady trying to reunite with my fiancé, remember?" She looks like she believes that.

Jack edges toward the bed without coming within three feet of her, eyes locked on the wily female. "In case you've forgotten, luv," he says, "you're the one that put me in this fine state."

Elizabeth blinks at him, expression charmingly confused. "Whatever do you mean?"

Gritting his teeth, Jack draws his sword and waves it at her. "Don't try it, luv. You're a righ' snake, leavin' your capt'n to die!"

"You made the decision." Her words are plain and she shows no reaction to his threat. "Didn't you come back to save us?" Jack's sword wavers and he sits down on the bed, trembling with anger and something else he cannot name. "Alright, so maybe you could have made the choice on your own, but it would take you too long to see reason. I just saw a different means to an end."

"Go away," Jack mutters, throwing his sword at her feet. "Go 'way or kill me properly."

He waits in silence for long minutes, eyes closed, waiting for damning words or a physical blow. None comes and when he opens his eyes, she is gone. He curses her and spits on the floor where she stood. Girl doesn't know a thing. She doesn't know any more than he does if something else could have been done. Damned vixen hadn't given him the opportunity.

"I was taking a chance!" he shouts angrily, flopping back on the bed. There is no one to hear his protest.

Next to appear is the bewitching Tia Dalma. She sits at a makeshift crate table with one of the food-obsessed Sparrows and plays a game of shells with a peanut hidden below the clams. Sparrow eagerly watches and tries to guess where the peanut is, a crazed lust in his eyes. Jack clenches his jaw and ignores them in favor of ordering about his crew. A particularly inept sailor entertains his attention for most of the day until Jack finally has enough and shoots the bastard. As the crew nervously gathers around their fallen companion, he sees Tia stand up at her table and smile at him with her all-knowing grin. Moustache twitching, he walks toward her.

"An' what are you doin' here?" he asks, sitting down on a barrel. He wishes for a bottle of rum, anything to further the distance between him and the _mambo_.

Tia sits across from him and tucks the shells into the folds of her skirts. "Whad do you t'ink?"

Annoyance makes him twitch again. Bloody women and their many ways of making him out to be the fool. "I think you're 'ere to gloat. Make a man a promise of safety and what becomes of 'im? Well, look 'round, darlin'." He spreads his arms wide, encompassing his beautiful ship, somehow undamaged in this strange realm of un-reality.

The obeah woman shrugs her shoulders, unconcerned. She reaches into her skirt and withdraws something that she hides with both hands. Her yellowed eyes stare at Jack unwaveringly and he squirms under the intense gaze.

"Mebbe I be here to help," she says, tone undulating ever-so-slightly as power fills the air. "You wan' to live, Jack Sparrow. Your life's no' done." She grins devilishly and Jack shivers at the sight of dark-stained teeth. Without knowing how it happens, he finds himself holding onto a sheathed fishing knife that Tia offershim. "Cut ou' him heart 'n I ken bring you back." She moves to stand beside him. He does not look up from the knife when her hand settles on his shoulder. "Bu' ken you do id, fair Jack?"

He doesn't understand what Tia Dalma means. Whose heart? He thinks for a time that she means Davy Jones, though the blackguard's heart has long been locked in a chest, separated from body. But if not Jones, then who? Perhaps she meant his own, but that doesn't make sense either, given that he would probably need the heart in his body to be brought back.

He entertains for a day that she used the male pronoun as a generic form, a sort of "_man_kind" as it were. If that is the case, he thinks, perhaps she means Elizabeth. The thought of cutting out the girl's heart excites him for only a moment before his stomach lurches. He takes out his frustration on the crew of Sparrows and ends up spearing the Cotton-Sparrow for failing to answer a simple question; he threatens the man who protests such treatment.

He awakens from a dreamless sleep one "night" – though the sky never darkens – when feminine curves press his side and a soft fall of hair caresses his cheek. His killer's voice whispers in his ear false promises of faith and trust and endearments, calling him a good man. Jack can't shut her out, although he keeps his eyes closed so as not to see her innocent face that hides the truth. He tenses when her lips travel to his face, breathing lies over his skin and then searing words on his chapped lips. Her soft body lightly descends on him and even though her actions seem to convey sensuality, he does not respond nor does he believe sex is on this phantom's mind.

Tia Dalma entertains the crew from time to time. Her laughter makes Jack's teeth ache. He can hear the mockery underlying her every tone. Even though he wants to shout at her to go away, he avoids confronting her and makes sure he finds something better to do when she's around.

He is visited in bed by his charming murderess frequently in the coming days. On one occasion Tia Dalma stares back at him as she holds his hand to her naked breast. Jack tries to shut out both of them. He attempts more than once to imagine better company. Although very much not feeling the urge to knock about with the women making their presence known, he's feeling jumpy and fervently clings to the idea that sexual release may loosen him up. The many women who come to mind fail to appear – Giselle or Scarlett, those twins in Singapore, headstrong Ana. Nor do any men come to mind.

"You're ignoring me, Jack," Elizabeth complains, hurt coloring her voice. He doesn't deign her with a reply and instead busies himself with checking the knot-work of one of his men. "Jack, please. Won't you listen to reason?"

"Chris'!" He whirls around, hands up in surrender. "What reason? You tied me to me own ship like I'd leave 'er to die alone! All this after tryin' to kiss me senseless an' singin' out me suppos'd virtues. What the 'ell's the matter with you, lass? 'M beginnin' to feel bad for William." He sees the slap coming and moves an arm to block its path. He grins at her disappointed expression. "You'll not be slappin' me for the truth."

"You'd 'ave gone wid yer _Pearl_, Jack?" Tia Dalma steps around him and moves to Elizabeth's side. "You spent all dat time runnin' an' let Davy Jones take on dem souls – would you really give up?"

With a snarl Jack returns, "I don't bloody know! Didn't get the chance to find out, now did I?"

"You came back," the murderess says quietly, wide eyes shining with sadness and admiration.

Tia stares at him, gaze penetrating his skull and soul. "You knew whad you wanted."

He ignores her in favor of accusing, "Yer bloody compass weren't helpin' a wit! If it worked I could 'ave avoided this whole mess! I wanted – _want_ – to live." He stabs a finger at Tia. "'Stead of leadin' to 'ow I could rightly save meself, the cursed thing whirls every which way."

Elizabeth spots the compass on his belt and eyes it wearily. "It wasn't working for me, either," she says, casting Tia a sullen glance. "What's wrong with it?"

Jack cocks his head curiously, wondering what the lass means. Tia Dalma grins at them both. "Is hard to t'ink on whad one wants most." She adjusts her shawl and places a hand over her heart. "Do you really wan' yer life back, Jack?" Her smile is full of dark promise, danger.

Turning away from them, perhaps an unwise move, he flips open the compass and glares at the spinning arrow. He concentrates on escaping this cursed place and returning to the living. _If only to bloody well be rid of the both of you_, he thinks. The arrow slows and eventually stops, pointing behind him and to his left. With a frown he turns. At first he notes that the women have vanished and only a handful of his crew remains – the Sparrows taking on the characteristics of his more faithful crewmembers.

Still frowning, he takes a few steps forward, then to the left. Then turns again and walks the other way. The arrow changes to match its initial heading with every pace. Jack moves in the correct direction this time, looking about to see what might have the slightest possibility of interesting him. He has to climb the quarterdeck before he sees something unusual. He doesn't understand why the compass would be pointing there, but the man walking across the sand below the _Pearl_ is the only thing out of place.

Jack shuts the compass with a snap and turns away. He curtly orders the diminished crew to their duties and storms into the hold. He has never found a drop of rum on his ship – which does not seem like him, though he supposes the lack certainly fits in with a form of Hell – but he is determined to search again; especially since there should be no reason for William Turner the younger to be approaching his ship.

He needs to light a lamp in the hold and when he reaches for the flint he keeps on his person, his palm brushes against the knife Tia gave him. He freezes, shock running through him as an idea skitters through his mind. _"Cut ou' him heart… Bu' ken you do id?"_

He never did find the rum, but he feels drunk when he wakes up to the feel of a naked arm shifting over his chest. Jack blinks groggily and comes to the realization that he and his bed partner are starkers without a thread between them. Unlike his previous visitors, this body is all firm planes and bony hips. No soft breasts flatten against his flesh. Instead he can feel the heavy weight of a man's genitals press into his thigh and the coarse hair of a beard rasp against his shoulder.

For a long time Jack doesn't move, doesn't do anything but stare up at the ceiling that is still too bright even with curtains drawn tight over the windows. He is fairly certain he does not want to confirm the identity of the man next to him, the one who probably holds all the answers if his other visitors are to be believed. It is one thing to discuss bartering someone's soul in stead of his own and quite another to personally deliver said soul on knife-tip.

The head on his shoulder shifts, nose pressing into the hollow of his collarbone. Against his better judgment, Jack's hand smoothes up the other man's bare back. He's surprised and horrified to feel half-healed welts stretching crisscross the expanse of skin.

When he glances down, a dark brown gaze captures him with little effort. There should be anger in these eyes, he thinks, and instead there is pain and uncertain trust. Jack remembers the first time he met the younger Turner. In particular he remembers the confused hurt in the boy's eyes at the end of their duel – _You cheated._

"You don't belong here, Jack," Will says with certainty. His arm tightens around Jack's chest and he tilts his head to kiss the nearest shoulder.

Feeling dazed, Jack mumbles, "You don't know the half of it, luv."

He lays silent and still as Will shifts position and crawls further on top of him, laying so that a leg brackets each of his. A stiffening prick hangs heavily next to Jack's and the pirate bites back a gasp, a sudden fear clawing his heart even as ministrations from Will's mouth and fingers melt his body. In the back of his mind he hears the voices of his phantom ladies, the slicing comments from an ex-commodore, self-righteous anger from the man sucking his chest right now, and hatred dripping from Davy Jones' tentacle mouth.

Jack nearly yells when Will simultaneously bites Jack's nipple and inserts a finger into his hole with astonishing ease. Will finds the pleasure spot quick as an expert and rubs it just right, making Jack buck his hips and scramble to take hold of the body above him. He groans as Will travels up his neck, leaving aching, damp marks where his mouth has been.

Between suctioned kisses, Will murmurs encouragingly. "Wanted you, Jack... Always seen you looking. You should have just asked..." His chuckle sends an overwhelming tingle of desire down Jack's spine. "You should have just taken. _Take what you can, give nothing back!_ Or was this," and his finger circles inside, "what you wanted?" Will's mouth travels Jack's ear, tongue and teeth sensitizing the flesh.

Jack manages to wrap one leg around Will's waist and moves his hands down to clench the man's arse. The voices in the back of his mind grow louder; he counteracts them by screaming and throwing himself into the sensations driving him mad with desire. Delicious, filthy promises fill his ears from Turner's lips and he refuses to let himself _think_ about any of this now.

Will's finger is suddenly gone and then there's the pain of a spit-slick cock delving inside, and he latches his mouth to Jack's as he begins to thrust. Jack can hardly breathe but is grateful for that fact as his oxygen-deprived mind is unable to do little more than operate the most vital brain functions. Will makes a keening noise, desperate, as their hips meet. After a few moments of struggle, Will pulls away and kneels on the bed, tugging Jack's legs until they're over his shoulders and Jack's in a position more vulnerable than he's been in for a long, long time. Will gazes down at him with half-lidded eyes, smile a little nervous despite his seeming expertise.

"Move, damn it!" Jack shouts. When Will complies, the pirate claws at the bed sheets and holds on for all he's worth. The voices in his head blessedly don't make any sense now; he knows they're saying nothing good. Right now he needs this...

"Jack," Will's head dips forward, his chestnut hair curling with sweat as he continues to drive in. "Jack. Did you want me?"

Christ, what a ridiculous question at a time like this!

"Jack... God, please!" Will moves up just a bit and Jack's hips tilt further to accommodate. "Did you – do you want me?"

Jack isn't entirely sure whether he answers, he's distracted by Will's hand milking him to completion and the overwhelmingly blissful oblivion that embraces him.

The next time he sees Turner is two nights later when he walks into his cabin. The blacksmith is laying sideways across the bed, looking for all the world like he's been there for hours, bored out of his mind. When he sees Jack, he smiles lazily. One of his hands slides down his naked side and disappears behind him. The thrust of his hips makes sure that Jack knows exactly what the implications are.

The fourth time Jack finds himself gasping Will's name, he decides to leave Tia's knife on a crate out on deck. He fights the voices lurking in his head every second from the moment he steps outside his cabin to the moment he goes in again and grabs Will.

His determination to block out both the voices and the reappearance of Elizabeth or Tia Dalma holds up for a time. For days he is able to find some bizarre form of sanity as he lays with Will, fucking or being fucked. He comes to believe it is real and not all trapped in his mind. He convinces himself that Elizabeth and Tia were the dreams, mere flights of fancy that are safe to ignore. He refuses to fit the knife into his equation.

Jack wakes up knowing that it is the middle of his self-determined night. Wondering why he's awake, he takes stock of his situation, surprised to still feel the heat of Will at his side. He turns his head and smiles crookedly at the lax face of his sleeping lover. He hasn't been able to see Will asleep before now; his lover usually vanishes by the time he wakes.

"Jack." He startles badly at the sound of her voice and jerks upright. For a moment he can't figure out where she is, then her head and shoulders appear at the bedside as she gets up from sitting on the floor. He eyes the murderess warily. She smiles at him, but it is sad and sympathetic. "It's alright to come back, now. I know you can't stand it here."

"Well, lately it's no' so bad," he mutters. He inches closer to his sleeping bedmate and places a hand on his lover's shoulder.

Elizabeth bends over Will and smiles sweetly at the relaxed face. She continues to address Jack, "But you know that these memories will fade." She glances up and he sees pity in her eyes. "Wasting away isn't your fate, Jack. You have the opportunity," _this time_ is implied.

It's true, he wants out of this empty place where he's stuck on a ship that won't move in spite of the most desperate attempts of imagination.

"Whad do you wan' most?" Tia Dalma appears at Elizabeth's side.

The answer's simple, really, and he doesn't have to think about it. He wants his freedom. He wants his life back and the sea and his _Pearl_. But he knows there's a catch.

"I ken bring you back," Tia says.

Jack looks down and is surprised to find a familiar knife in his hands. His fist closes around the handle in a grip suited for stabbing a downed enemy. The longer he stares at it, the more familiar it becomes. Eventually recognition dawns on him: Bootstrap's knife, the one Will came back with from the _Dutchman_.

"You don't have to suffer," Elizabeth says.

He wonders how this is supposed to work; one of his inner voices – of which there have been many, these days – jumps in to demand _who comes up with these crazy rules about bringing back the dead?_

Tia Dalma intones, "Cut ou' him heart."

He feels sick as his arm rises of its own accord. He bites back a gasp as arm and knife slice through the air—

An inch above the bare chest he stops. Jack can feel his pulse throbbing through his body and he aches with longing. He can't look up at the women waiting at the bedside, he doesn't want to know what they're thinking.

"Do it, Jack."

The voice makes him catch his breath. He stares at Will in disbelief. Jack trembles when he feels someone else's hand wraps around his fist; he knows it's Will's.

"You're not supposed to be here," Will says with a small smile. He acts like this is the most reasonable solution in the world. "You're needed. Listen to them." He presses on Jack's hand. "You've got to do it yourself, Jack." He smiles encouragingly and lets his hand fall away. He closes his eyes and leans back into the pillow.

He whispers, "Do it."

From far away Jack watches the knife lift and plummet downward until it pierces flesh, tears muscle, breaks bone, and lodges just short of the beating heart. He can't feel blood pooling under his hand though he sees it. For a long time he can't drag his eyes from knife.

In time he looks to Turner's face and stares at the open, unseeing eyes. The man looks again like a boy, a naïve blacksmith who knew nothing of pirate heritage. Jack sits and stares, the voices in his head silent. He waits, unsure what for, and barely breathes.

The body is still in his cabin the next night so he sleeps restlessly on deck. He throws himself into the preparations of the _Pearl_ the following day, sensing that soon it will be time to move. He tells one of his men to check his cabin but every Sparrow gives him a horrified look before scurrying away to do some task far from their captain. Jack stays away as long as he can.

He's prepared to turn back if he finds the body – only a body, no blood or soul left. In spite of this, Jack makes himself step into the cabin and stand by the bed. Someone has put a sheet over the body and with shaky hands he pulls back the cloth. Turner looks to be made of wax rather than flesh and the color has leeched out of him as evidenced by the dark bloodstain in the bedding.

Protruding from the chest is the knife, a macabre monument to Jack's sin and failure. He cannot bring himself to be the butcher and his inability has, he is sure, cost him his chance for escape; he also believes he has condemned Will by wasting such sacrifice.

Jack is prepared to lay forever on the hard plain of sand and bake under the sun that never sets. After a while, he adjusts and feels warm rather than boiling hot. His eyes are closed as he lets his mind wander and tries to remember. Memories and dreams blur together now and he has long given up the fight to determine reality.

_When one is bein' followed by rocks_, he tells himself, _one should be doubtful 'bout one's ability to suss out what's real an' what's not._

Amidst all the bright heat it becomes immediately apparent that something is awry when the sun fails to reach him. He opens his eyes quickly and glances around without moving. Strange, the shadow over him extends quite a ways... He sits up and blinks at the sight of funny little gray creatures swelling like waves at the bottom of his _Pearl_. As he continues to watch, it strikes him that _Pearl_ is _moving_, gliding across the sand due to the creatures crawling over themselves to keep the motion going.

_There's somethin' you don't see every day._

It takes him another minute to realize he should be following. Muttering a curse, he jumps to his feet and dashes after his ship.

His blood sings at the sight of the sea and for the first time in days he feels almost alive. Maybe there is still a chance for escape and a way to outrun his latest sin. He also thinks it might be a good sign that he is no longer seeing an innumerable crew of Sparrows.

"A sight for sore eyes! Jack!"

"Mister Gibbs!" he calls, striding towards his first mate. Damn the man. "I thought so. I expect you can account for your actions, then?"

Gibbs blinks at him in surprise, confusion widening his eyes.  "Sir?"

"There has been a perpetual an' virulent lack of discipline aboard my vessel! Why is that, sir?"

After glancing over his shoulder, Gibbs leans in and says quietly, "You're in Davy Jones' locker, Cap'n."

"I know that." Of course he's known. "I know where I am." Didn't he? "And don't think that I don't." He snorts and turns to check on the rest of his crew.

"Jack Sparrow."

Well, this is a surprise. Jack pauses and eyes the tall man. "Ah, Hector. It's been too long," well, everything seems so long ago, "hasn't it?"

Barbossa's eyes narrow and it's hard to tell if it's amusement or suspicion. "Aye, Isla de Muerta, remember? You shot me."

"No I didn't." He walks by and bumps into the _mambo_. Soaked as she is from the sea, Jack can't dredge up any fear for this usually intimidating woman. "Ah, Tia Dalma, out an' about, eh? You lend an agreeable sense of the macabre to any delirium." He smiles and sketches a shallow bow.

He congratulates himself for imagining a more detailed reality but reminds himself not to get caught up in fantasy. They are not here. This is not _real_-real, like _living_ real.

"He thinks we're a hallucination." Ah, the voice of reason.

The voice is nearly as familiar as the hum of his sweet _Pearl_. Since the first time they crossed blades Jack has been aware of Will and his inaudible tune that Jack finds all too easy to sing to. His chest aches with the need to reach out to a living Will, touch warm skin so as to drive away the horrible memory of death.

He clears his throat and bluffs, "William, tell me somethin'. Have you come because you need my help to rescue a certain distressing damsel?" Being murdered is quite stressful and enough to turn a man from even the prettiest of women. "Or rather, a damsel in distress? Either one."

Turner arches an eyebrow at him as he answers in the negative. The expression is so familiar of his estranged past that Jack has to reign in the urge to hug the man. Reasonably he continues, "Then you wouldn't be here. So you can't be here. Q.E.D. you're not really here."

_That's right, let these buggers know where they stand._

"Jack, this is real, we're here."

His moustache twitches in annoyance. Why is she back? He eyes Elizabeth warily and side-steps her outstretched hand. No, he will not have her touch him. As he backs away he realizes that the woman standing before him wears an expression of guilt, something always lacking when she has visited before. He glances quickly at the other people gathered on the beach; he wonders who the Orientals are and questions why he would invite Barbossa or Pintel or Ragetti into his world.

A disturbing suspicion creeps into his thoughts and he goes to Gibbs to check on it. "The locker, you say?" He strokes his beard in thought, staring blankly at the sand underfoot. It would make sense, right?

He still hasn't come up with a satisfactory answer when Elizabeth insists, "We've come to rescue you!"

And the statement sounds utterly ridiculous when he casts an eye around the crowd. Everywhere he looks he can see evidence that rescue plays very little part in this venture. Gibbs, bless him, and his few remaining crew members seem to be without ulterior motives, but he knows that can change in time.

He rakes his gaze over Turner, noting the fading bruises on the man's face and recently healed cut on his hand. It takes a moment to find, but Jack's eyes settle on the knife at Will's belt. His heart skips a beat and for a moment he feels it in his hand again, sees the blood welling up from the depths of a cooling body.

_"Cut ou' him heart."_ He spins toward Tia Dalma with an accusation ready on his lips and stops just in time when he realizes that she is exchanging a concerned glance with Gibbs.

_You're lost, Jacky._ He tells the voice to shut up and launches into a classic Captain Sparrow display practiced long enough that he doesn't have to worry about the performance being perfect. _Dazzle 'em 'til they can't see straight._

The voices in his head haven't stopped. Jack hears them taunting him when he tries to block them out and pay attention to the real people around him. At night when he's alone with the voices he wonders how no one knows. Then again, he considers, who would see fit to call him on it? Barbossa needs him at the moment, Elizabeth has been absent more than not, same with Turner – who is not the Will of his fantasies – and Gibbs hesitates to question his captain too deeply.

_Alrigh', then. By your onesies._

_'Cepting for us, a'course_. Bugger. _Nice of you to vote our murderess into kinghood._

_Weren't no better way_, he argues. He narrows his eyes at the noisy Court, as if he needed a reminder of why he hates meeting with so many fellow pirate captains. Self-important lot without a sense of humor, all of them. He snorts and turns away, only to come face-to-face with a captain he's less inclined to see than the others.

His lips twitch, attempting a smile. Well... "How's it, then?" Noticing the dissatisfaction in eyes dark as his own, Jack says, "What? You've seen it all, done it all." He waves his hands in a grand gesture. "You survived. An' that's the trick, innit? To survive."

Captain Teague's eyebrow arches at his tone. When he replies, it's with something Jack does not expect of the man he'd watched grow hard and cynical. "It's not just about livin' forever, Jacky. The trick," he makes a familiar hand gesture, "is living with yourself, forever."

_Gettin' a bad feelin' 'ere,_ one of the voices complains.

_Don't pay attention to 'im. Dads're apt to frighten the kiddies._

The first voice reminds, _Not been a kid for a while, Jack. An' you know 'e knows it._

_Shut up, all of you!_

"So..." he grabs for something completely different. "How's mum?"

Oh. Not so lovely these days. Vaguely he wonders what happened, but it's been a couple decades since he'd been near either parent. "She looks great." He sees a real grin reflected back at him and some of his fear dims.

_Might've visited sooner, Jacky._

He sighs, wishing he had a moment's peace. He dreads the night ahead, knowing it will be all the worse after having abandoned Turner for Beckett to find. _But it's part of the plan_, he tries to console himself.

"The trick is living with yourself." Jack looks up quickly but is unable to tell if Teague repeated himself. Either way, the words weigh heavily on his shoulders like an accusation. He really wishes he didn't have to be involved.

He abandons the distracting voices back in the _Dutchman's_ brig and pursues his original purpose of being on the ship. The chest is heavier than he remembers and the beat of the heart vibrates throughout his body even as he dodges Jones' blows and quips with the squid-faced captain.

Then he's flying through the air and catching hold of a rope by pure luck. His body moves fluidly, instinctively keeping him from revisiting death's door. His only goal is uniting chest and key and stabbing that heart to claim his immortality and leave behind all mortals' fear.

Jack laughs aloud when the key clicks into place. Eagerly he opens the lid but amidst the elation he feels a sudden stab of fear as he looks down at the bloody heart. For a moment the image of a lifeless Will laying in his bed overwhelms him.

_It's not 'im, you fool!_ he scolds himself. He glances up, sees Davy Jones mocking Turner as he removes the sword from his body. _Now! Or it could bloody well be._ Jack grabs the heart and pulls it out with both hands.

Scrambling to his feet, he withdraws his broken sword and waits for the opportune—

"Do you?" He can feel the grin lighting his face and resists the urge to laugh at Jones' stunned expression. "Heady tonic, holdin' life an' death in the palm of one's 'and." He ignores the slimy feel of the heart as blood trickles between his fingers. Part of him remembers Will's blood blossoming red beneath the knife.

Jack pulls his blade up, preparing for a grand performance to sever Jones' ties from the world when the other captain accuses, "You're a cruel man, Jack Sparrow."

"All a matter of perspective, mate!" he returns.

"Is it, now?"

Jack is sure he didn't blink. Swears it, but he did not see anything until the sword is protruding from the whelp's chest. Again he is forced to watch dark crimson well to the surface at an alarming rate, spilling over the edges of the wound and trailing down skin to soak into cloth. Jack isn't sure he can breathe, frozen in shock.

He doesn't realize he'd gone deaf until a fury of sound crashes in on him and he's moving. More than moving, he's practically flying across the deck to reach Will's side. Elizabeth is sobbing as she uselessly runs her hands over the dying man's body. Jack watches in wide-eyed silence and wishes he could see Will's eyes. He wants someone else to tell him what to do; his recent choices have led to such disaster.

"Please!" Elizabeth is begging, but not of Jack.

Will's eyes are losing focus, and Jack can see now that the man has turned his head. In his mind he can hear echoes from the wasteland and that strange period of bliss he doubts he will ever regain.

_"Cut ou' him heart." "You don't belong here, Jack." "You have the opportunity." "Whad do you wan' most?" "Do it, Jack." "You've got to do it yourself."_

The hand in his is chilly but not yet waxen. He guides the weak fingers around the hilt of his sword and raises their joined hands. He looks away from the heart and stares at Will as the broken blade descends and sinks into flesh. As the light fades in Will's eyes, Jack fancies he sees a tiny smile. He glances away, not wanting to watch the final moment when breath escapes for the last time.

Jones freezes above Bill Turner, Calypso's name escaping his lips before the _Dutchman's_ captain falls over the rail and into the eye of the whirlpool. Elizabeth screams behind him and Jack closes his eyes, praying to whatever gods will listen that he hasn't made another mistake.

Gradually he becomes aware of the murmured chant sweeping over the ship as the misshapen crew draw closer. "Part of the ship, part of the crew. Part of the ship, part of the crew."

Goosebumps creep up Jack's arm at the repetition. He knows it's time to go, suddenly realizing how deep the _Dutchman_ is swirling into the whirlpool. Elizabeth fights to get away when he grabs her, but he is the stronger and by the time he miraculously gets them airborne, she is clinging to him and sobbing into his chest. She doesn't see what he does. Jack watches with sick fascination as Bootstrap employs his knife in the task of ripping into his son's chest. And oh, there is so much more blood...

The _Dutchman_ continues its downward spiral as Jack and Elizabeth float through the air towards the _Pearl_. He foolishly wonders how any of this is possible. He's been acting on instinct and now he feels lost in the absence of action and adrenaline. As they near the ocean's surface he can hear _Pearl's_ call and smiles a little to himself, knowing now that she called them back – probably with a little help. He gives Elizabeth a boost before climbing up the ship behind her. He glances up at the clearing sky and spares a thought to Calypso, acknowledging the part of the goddess that will always be Tia Dalma.

_Can't escape bein' human_, he thinks. He feels amazingly calm as he steps on deck. Calm and confident.

Gibbs nervously tries to give a report and none too subtly suggests fleeing. Barbossa calls out orders that Jack quickly belays. Gibbs tries again to encourage retreat. "Kindly _shut up_!" Jack snaps at the crew as he strides towards the helm. He waits, watching the waves, knowing that soon— And he's not sure how he knows, though he's aware that _Pearl_ in humming and he seems to hear the faint thump of a heartbeat...

The _Flying Dutchman_ breaks the surface. He grins and calls, "Full canvas!" Elizabeth looks ready to faint for a moment; she quickly regains herself and competes with her fellow captains for attention as they each shout orders to the crew.

He stares for a long time at the pristine beach in the light of the setting sun. He tries to imagine what it would be like to watch the land from afar for years on end, knowing that he could only set foot on land for one day every ten years. The ocean is his home and a closer companion than any lover, but even Jack needs his time ashore, if only to remember how much he belongs to the sea.

The wind picks up and Jack's eye catches on the ghostly flag flying above the _Dutchman_. The otherworldly ship waits with the _Pearl_ for the morning to come. She's changed a little having shed much of her sea creature accoutrements like the crew. Despite the change of captains, she'll continue to be a terrifying sight as she comes to guide her souls, but Jack will never fear her tattered sails again.

A lone figure leans against the rail on the other ship and after squinting a bit, Jack can tell it's Bootstrap; (he looks much better without the starfish and the barnacle-encrusted coat). For a moment Jack feels a little uncomfortable realizing that the only other person watching the shore so intently is the father of the recent groom. Bootstrap has a justifiable claim on concern for his newlywed son; Jack isn't sure he could defend his own spying if asked. His interest has little to do with concern for the newlyweds and more to do with an emotional investment Jack is reluctant to admit.

"Cap'n." Gibbs steps up to the rail. Jack motions him to speak but doesn't turn to face his first mate. "Be there a plan for mornin'?"

Gaze again turned to shore, Jack considers what the new Mrs. Turner is apt to request upon return. "To Shipwreck Cove, I think. Her majesty needs 'er own ship." He caresses _Pearl's_ rail affectionately. "Already 'ave me 'ands full with bloody what's-'is-face." Gibbs snorts quietly, making Jack grin.

"Aye, an' what ye be plannin' about that?"

Jack glances sidelong at his friend and smirks. "A secret, Mister Gibbs. All in due time." Truthfully he hasn't thought very far ahead given the recent overwhelming events, but he'll be damned if he lets Barbossa take away his _Pearl_ again. Maybe he should enlist Elizabeth's help before seeing her off. After all, she seems to feel indebted to him at the moment, and he isn't sure how long that will last.

_Lass seems to've made quite the impression with ol' Hector._ That, along with her craftiness will prove a good asset in retaining his beloved ship. Yes, he decides, he'll set her to work. Maybe they'll even avoid some bloodshed if Elizabeth can convince Barbossa to take on a different ship. _Never would've figured 'im to be fascinated by anyone but 'isself._

"Jack?" Gibbs looks like he's been waiting to catch his attention. "The crew'll be wantin' some... rewardin' venture after all this."

Ah. That he has thought of, though he'll not admit to why. "I know just the thing, mate." He grins and meets his friend's curious gaze. "E'er 'eard of the Fountain of Youth?" Gibbs opens his mouth but doesn't say a word, a strange expression crossing his face – a dawning realization that Jack is not particularly fond of. "Bit of shiny 'long the way, to be sure," he adds. This proves enough of a distraction.

Jack's eyes wander back to the _Dutchman_ where Bootstrap has begun to pace. _Eternity would be  more'n a might lonely. Wonder if your girl understands it yet._

"I'm to take watch if ye want, Cap'n," Gibbs says expectantly.

Shaking his head, Jack leans against the rail and waves the first mate away. "I'll be 'ere, Mister Gibbs. Get your rest 'fore our travels, savvy?" He's already refocused on the shore when Gibbs responds. The sun has set but already a full moon bathes the sand in silvery light.

For a moment he imagines he can feel the sand beneath his feet and the surf lapping at his ankles. He turns toward the gentle touch at his shoulder and finds Will standing beside him, a small smile on his face. They stare at one another in peaceable silence. Jack moves his gaze to Will's open shirt and eyes the long jagged scar across an otherwise unblemished chest. His heart aches at the sight but before he can say anything gentle fingers press against his lips. He looks up, expecting to fall into the other man's mahogany gaze, and instead can only see the _Flying Dutchman_ bobbing gently in the waves.

With a sigh, Jack slumps against the rail and wonders if he has the energy to find a bottle of rum. Come morning, he'll be needing it.

January 21, 2008 – January 30, 2008


	2. Never Learned to Drown

Never Learned to Drown

By Clarity Scifiroots

Regular disclaimers apply, I'm dabbling in someone else's sandbox.

Pairings: pre-Jack/Will, some Will/Elizabeth, hints of Norrington/Elizabeth

Rating: Mature, bordering on Adults Only

Warnings: Het stuff (W/E to an extent, hints of W/Tia), unresolved issues

Series: sequel to Lost at Sea

Summary: Will becomes familiar with what it means to be captain and perhaps sympathizes with Davy Jones.

_Thanks to klear0bsession for boosting my confidence, which really helped encourage me to continue and wrap this story up. She remarks that this series has the makings of an epic, I'm starting to worry that she's right... Thanks also to danglingdingle for asking some good questions and making remarks that helped fine-tune some additions._

William Turner watches the sky lighten as he secures the scarf around his hair. His feet are bare, digging into the sand he will be unable to touch for ten years. If asked, he would have to admit that he passed his night spending as much time taking in the feel of the land as the feel of his bride's body against his.

Now that she has entered his thoughts he is unable to avoid the conversation he knows will complicate their parting. Elizabeth, the girl he'd become enamored with while still a boy, a girl he watched grow up. She's a complicated woman full of passion and noble ideals, yet decidedly stubborn and willing to be ruthless in pursuing her goals.

Will closes his eyes and buries his feet deeper in the sand. He does love her, yet he could love her so much more – more sincerely – with time. He's only known for little over a week what transpired between their interrupted wedding and the _Pearl's_ – and Jack's – destruction. In the aftermath of the kraken, the resentment and doubt had grown from a seed planted sometime during his search for Jack.

He loves her, but it is nothing like the all-consuming and send-you-flying sort of love he once imagined it would be. Perhaps it is only that they have both matured to see the world more realistically, but there is part of him that knows they have their own paths to walk...

"Will." Elizabeth's arms slide over his shoulders and her hands wander down his chest, conspicuously avoiding the jagged scar. "We've some time yet..." Her lips brush over his ear and he leans against her, wishing her touch or her voice would fill the void in him. He knows that the organ removed from his chest is more a physical symbol for rather than manifestation of his emotions and soul, but he feels very detached from the world since its loss.

Gently he guides her hands away from his hips and kisses her palms. "Liz... I need to speak with you."

With a sigh she sits beside him in the sand. Her shift is unlaced, hiding very little, and she seems to purposefully let the sleeve slip over her shoulder. She casts him a suggestive look; Will offers her a weak smile in return.

"You know that I..." Strange how hard he finds what he has to say when he's thought about it since Tia Dalma suggested he would take Jones' place. He looks out at the sea and finds his gaze lingering on the _Black Pearl_.

"I won't be able to step ashore for—"

"Ten years," she finishes. Her smile is strained when he glances at her. "Yes, I know. I... You know I'll wait?"

Will again looks at the sea and watches the ships. "Elizabeth," he says softly, "I will not bind you." His gaze drops to his sandy feet. "You've always fought to be free. Who am I to try and trap you?"

Her hand slides into his. "Not trapped, Will! We've been _waiting_ for this! All of this time, haven't we been working towards... towards _us_?" He can't quite remember how long ago they had been ready to marry. A year? Less, or more? "Will, I've been waiting for you since I can remember."

He hates hearing the heartbreak in her voice, but there is no time to ease slowly through this conversation. He turns to face her and cups her cheek in his hand. "How much, Elizabeth?" She looks at him in confusion. "How much time have you spent pining for me? Who else have you... Has there not been anyone else you've thought about?" Before she can turn away to hide guilty eyes, he assures, "I don't mean Jack. Whatever that was..." he trails off and lets it lay, needing that to remain in the past so he doesn't rekindle the fire of anger and bitterness.

"I loved you so long from afar. I doubt I'll ever meet someone else like you. But I've only begun to know myself and you've... we've both changed so much." His voice drops to a whisper as he watches her eyes close, hiding the flash of recognition and hurt in her expression. "I love you, do not doubt that. But you belong to no man and I will not pretend to keep you."

"Why," she whispers, voice wavering, "then did you ask for us to be married?"

Will strokes her cheek with his thumb. "Because I promised you." Her eyes open and he fights a grimace at her stricken look. "Shh... I mean that you have had my heart from the beginning. I trust only you to guard it. And I promise you that I will return."

Confusion evident on her face, she says, "What are you asking of me?"

"Nothing," he replies, smiling gently. "I will not change you and could not even if I wished." He wonders if she also is reminded of Calypso. "You have my love, without terms or conditions. I wish you to be happy and live your life."

He pauses, waiting for his words to sink in before continuing. Part of him wonders how long it took for Jones to lose himself and if the same fate will find him. However, at present Elizabeth's fate is the only one he is concerned with.

"I will not be with you, and you cannot follow me," he reminds gently. He watches the reality finally start to sink in and brings her into his embrace. Against her hair he murmurs, "You're so _alive_. I hate the thought that my memory would hold you back from anything or anyone. Surely you'd hate to be alone."

"Doesn't mean I'll fall in love with someone else," she protests, face pressed against his shoulder.

Will strokes her hair soothingly. "I'm not saying you must. Just know that you owe me nothing."

The sun's earliest rays appear in the sky. When he turns his head he can see the tide inching closer, reaching for him as sure as the siren song playing in his mind. _This must be what it's like for Jack_, he thinks, _when he talks with _Pearl_._

Elizabeth pulls away eventually and meets his gaze. He does not comment on the wetness on her cheeks. Her fingertips trace his lips as she smiles sadly. "I've kissed only a few," she begins quietly, "though your lips are the only ones that matter. I can't imagine— but maybe I don't understand yet." She takes a deep breath and drops her hand. "You'll always be more than a memory, Will; don't think so little of yourself. And if you ask nothing of me but to keep your heart safe—" they share a smile at the double meaning "—then I must insist you have no obligations to me."

Before he can protest her lips are on his in a fierce kiss. When they part she looks away and says, "I don't know what awaits you. But maybe... maybe there will be someone who captures your interest."

Will gently guides her to face him again. "I'm ferryman to the dead," he murmurs, trying hard to hide the resignation in his voice.

"If I'm to be happy, you must find a way, too." Her expression sets in determination and Will can feel his lips twitch upwards.

"Alright," he promises.

He doesn't say goodbye. When he returns to the _Dutchman_ he walks straight to the helm and orders the crew to get underway. His father relinquishes the wheel silently, although Will can tell by his expression that he wants to say something; Will catches Bootstrap staring at the _Pearl_ still anchored in place. Quickly he looks away and locks his eye on the horizon.

Considering that he has no real idea of the particulars of his captainship, he feels surprisingly calm. Beneath his hands the wood feels warm and alive, so unlike he imagined after his previous stay aboard the _Dutchman_. As the sun rises, he beginnings to hear a collection of murmuring voices, too quiet to distinguish any words. The ship hums beneath his feet as an accompaniment, and he can sense her anticipation.

_Where can you take me?_ he questions silently. _Guide me_.

The _Dutchman_ arcs into the next wave and she begins her dive beneath the sea. For a moment Will can only think of his numerous experiences of almost-drowning; he has a strong desire to hold his breath. As the ocean swallows the _Dutchman_ the voices in the back of his mind grow louder and one familiar female voice separates from the rest.

_"De Duchess be gentle when you love her. You have not'ing to fear from de sea. You be free to sail dese waters if you do de job that you been given."_ Tia Dalma – Calypso, now. He lets the _Dutchman_ sail as she will while he listens intently to Tia. _"Dere be many souls yet to cross worlds; Davy Jones abandon dem. You mus' see to dem."_

_"What do I do?"_ he asks. How is he to guide wandering spirits of the dead? Is he to ask if any wish to be part of his crew? Will does not know yet if the _Dutchman_ needs a full crew, but he has only a handful of men since much of Jones' crew opted to move on when he voided their debt.

_"Your Duchess know wha' to do,"_ Tia says, sounding amused. _"An' you will know dem dat belong wit' de crew, 'n dem dat might no' be prepared to die."_

Her words are suddenly lost in a surge of voices moaning and screaming and crying. Will grips the wheel to keep from falling to his knees during the onslaught. It takes some time for the initial shock to wear away and realize that the _Dutchman_ has surfaced again. The noise lessens somewhat, the number of people clamoring for his attention lessening.

"Capt'n, eight to starboard."

Will approaches the rail at his father's call and searches the sea below. Bile rises in his throat when he sees the navy men in the water, staring up at the ship in terror. Each man stays afloat with the aid of a barrel. He remembers all too well the feel of rope and waxy skin beneath his hands as he tied dead men into place and pushed them off the _Pearl_ in order to leave a trail for Beckett.

"We're to take them aboard," Bootstrap says gently. He nods towards the four men standing on deck, looking up at the helm and awaiting orders. "Else they can follow behind."

Shaking off his memories, Will turns to the crew and says, "Bring them on. Work quickly, we have plenty more to find." He turns away from the rail and his father's concerned gaze. Back at the wheel, he retreats into his mind and tentatively tries reaching out to the voices, searching for the source of each cry. He can feel the _Dutchman_ tremble under his feet when he finds the next group of souls calling for guidance.

Will can hear every creak of the _Dutchman_ as the number of passengers increase. The ship dips into the waves readily at his direction and they travel steadily from each call to the next. Time becomes something of a forgotten entity until the sun appears in his view and he must squint against the light.

"We'll be needin' to cross at sundown," Bootstrap murmurs, appearing at the captain's side. All day he has quietly related what helpful information he can. Will can tell his father is making a great effort to not sound imposing or controlling. He appreciates the help.

"Have the crew take shifts one at a time. I've no desire to sleep tonight; the _Dutchman_ knows her way, she'll guide me." He ponders what he's just said, then asks, "Why is she the Dutch-_man_?"

Bootstrap's startled chuckle is a pleasure to hear, something human in this otherwise alien setting. "I don't know, lad. Mebbe she'll give you a different name. She likes you." His hand briefly caresses the wheel as he comments, "I never felt her so vibrant."

"We're getting on well," Will agrees absently. Another voice is calling him, a soul lost and confused with an undercurrent of desperation. Judging by the sun, there isn't much time before he must make the crossing; this will be the last call for the day. He tries not to think about how long it will take to catch up on Jones' work.

Beneath his hands, Will feels more than hears the _Dutchman's_ despondent sigh. He suddenly feels the distinct lack of his heart as both the ship's and lost soul's cries echo in his mind. He looks around to find his small crew tending to the current passengers. Bootstrap squats beside two small girls trying to play cat's cradle. None of the crew seem to be aware they should be searching.

Frowning at the strange inattentiveness, Will steps away from the wheel and lets his instincts guide him. His feet take him to port and he leans over the rail. In the water he first notices the naval hat of a commander. He wonders at the lack of other soldiers; how did an officer perish without his men?

"Come back for me?" a familiar voice drawls, irritation and sarcasm overriding a hint of resignation.

Will's gaze quickly locks on the man bobbing in the waves. He casts a rope ladder over the side as he responds, "Jones is gone. Come aboard, Mister Norrington." He watches as the man below squints against the setting sun. After a few moments he swims toward the ship.

Will steps away from the rail once he knows Norrington is climbing. In the short amount of time he has before facing the former commodore, he attempts to organize his thoughts. He hasn't thought about the man for months, since before Jack's rescue truly got underway. Even before then Norrington hadn't played much of role in his life.

As the man climbs over the railing, formal navy uniform soaked and wig missing, Will feels a twinge of sympathy from the _Dutchman_. Norrington smoothes a hand over his hair, a useless attempt to curb his disheveled appearance. He straightens, shoulders back, which manages to remind Will of the once stuffy commodore. Looking at him now, Will realizes he harbors no ill-feelings for the man and perhaps holds a degree of regret at the man's fate.

"Well, Mister Turner, this is a sur—a surprise." Norrington's gaze falls to Will's scar. He has no idea that the captain can hear his silent screams of resentment; bitter anger coils around him, trapping him with frustration and helplessness. Part of him tries to reach out, regret slipping through the angry and begging softly for forgiveness. Will has the sense that Norrington doesn't know the true cause of his emotions.

"Things have a way of turning out unexpectedly," he says mildly. "I thought Beckett's reward were Letters of Marque?"

Norrington's jaw tightens and he refuses to meet Will's stare. "I had asked for reinstatement."

Will hums in agreement, this is not what he is particularly interested in. "I'm surprised Beckett didn't think you as much of a threat as the governor."

"I didn't know!" Norrington snaps, but his anger is automatic and the _Dutchman_ groans quietly with the unspoken guilt.

"You were not in control," Will says. The other man looks about to respond, not understanding that this is a statement of fact, not an accusation or question. "I think we both know Beckett's power-hungry machinations were carefully planned. He had the control." His own jaw tightens at the memory of the extensive subterfuge that had to be undertaken in order to finally overthrow the overzealous lord. "He hadn't counted on the complications from Davy Jones; perhaps that's the thing that saved us in the end."

Norrington's disgusted expression speaks volumes. True, this man has not been saved; to an extent, neither has Will. Once again they find they are two faces of the same coin.

The sun is getting lower and Will feels the _Dutchman's_ increasing desire to get underway. He motions for Norrington to follow him to the helm.

They're silent until Will takes the wheel. Bootstrap approaches, then stops abruptly, eyes widening as he stares over his son's shoulder. Glancing back, Will finds that Norrington is eyeing the other man warily. Instantly he knows why Norrington is dead, it's not hard to imagine when he himself fought against his father.

Quietly he says, "Mister Turner, tell the crew we'll be crossing soon." Bootstrap nods and turns away.

Will remains silent for a long while, following the _Dutchman's_ directions as they plunge deep beneath the waves, the ocean rushing by like a fierce gale until suddenly the bow pierces the air of another realm. The sky is black as pitch, but the stars are brighter here. When he breathes, Will can smell a difference. He can hear more souls here than he has in the past day, but these are far more calm murmurings, the confusion missing from their tones.

The passengers drift toward the railings to stare across the impossibly smooth, mirrored surface of the sea. Will turns his head towards Norrington and invites, "When were you on the ship?"

"The chest was moved on board at Beckett's insistence. I was sent with men to guard it while Mercer kept an eye on Jones..." His eyes narrow as he glances at the captain. "Why should this matter to you?"

Will gazes at the stars as the _Dutchman_ makes her own way. "Could be I wouldn't mind filling in the gaps. I might also be in need of stories to keep me company in the coming years."

Norrington is silent for a long while. "The ship attacked Sao Feng. When Jones' crew brought prisoners aboard, Elizabeth claimed captainship." He sighs. "I tried to keep her from the brig..."

Will almost smiles. "She wouldn't want special treatment."

"No," the other agrees reluctantly. "Seeing her, a familiar face, reminded me that I could not– hide or forget the past. I didn't find my way with Beckett any better than my other decisions." His tone is self-deprecating. "So I decided to help her escape. She even asked me to come with, started arguing when I said no..."

"You were stopped," Will guesses. "My father was lost to Jones' corruption of the ship." He isn't sure he should say any more, but eventually adds, "I'm sorry."

Norrington laughs. "For what? I've accused you of ruining my life, yet I managed that on my own. I can hardly hold you accountable for anyone else's actions."

They stand quietly together. More passengers wander up on deck to stare at the uncharted waters and breathtaking sky. The _Dutchman_ whispers to Will that this is her real home, the place beyond reality with a different and indistinct set of rules. She reaches to caress the void within him and promises she can heal it if he'll let her. When he doesn't respond to the touch, she tells him of the numerous figures of legend she has carried to the edge.

"So Beckett's gone along with Jones," Norrington interrupts. Will glances sidelong.

"Yes. Beckett's dead, along with many of his men." He watches Norrington's lips press together a little tighter. "I believe we retrieved most of them today," he says, an implied question about recognition in his voice. Norrington shakes his head in the negative.

"Do you plan to take Beckett?"

Will's hands tighten on the wheel and he can feel a surge of anger in the _Dutchman_. "No. Let him drift forever or wallow in self-pity. I'm done with him."

Norrington's lips turn up slightly in a smile. "I notice the crew is lacking their former uniform."

"The job itself is not damned," Will says without emotion. "But it is not difficult to imagine that the years wear away at one's sanity, and the absence of a heart twists one's perceptions."

It takes some time for Norrington to respond. "With good companions, a sailor finds his home on his ship."

"And when said sailor's heart lies elsewhere, with others beyond his reach? Companionship is far more complex than you, and even I, can understand at this time." Will's eyes focus straight ahead, wishing he could make himself dismiss the other man; Norrington is the last connection to his former life, and he's unwilling to let the chance to hold on slip through his fingers.

"It never occurred to me you would accept anything as impossible." Norrington sounds thoughtful rather than sarcastic. There's a hint of amusement in his voice, then: "Perhaps no Jack Sparrow..."

"_Captain_," Will automatically reacts. He closes his eyes and ignores the quiet laugh from his companion. The sudden swell of pain feels like it saps all his strength. He struggles not to slump but isn't sure he succeeds. The _Dutchman_ reaches for him again, attempting to surround the ache and ease it.

"I think it best we leave Jack in the past," Will says, eyes still closed.

Norrington says nothing, and Will is loath to attempt the start of another conversation.

Will watches as dozens of small boats rise up from the sea on either side of the _Dutchman_. Bootstrap approaches the helm, gaze wandering to eye Norrington who is at the rail watching the empty boats.

"We leave 'em here," Bootstrap explains. "The currents will guide 'em."

"Alright." Will glances at Norrington from the corner of his eye before deciding what to say. Bootstrap waits patiently. "Would you see to them? I'll be there in a moment."

Norrington's shoulders slump as Will approaches. The man's knuckles are white from his grip on the _Dutchman_. "So this is the end," he says bitterly.

Will stands beside him and stares down into the dark waters. "I don't know where you go from here," he admits. "I'm not sure I'll ever know." He feels the other man's stare. "You died for love." He almost smiles at the absurdity of the statement and such hopeless romanticism. "I died... because I was conveniently nearby when Jones decided to taunt Jack." He remembers Elizabeth's sobbing and her trembling hands, but he doesn't remember seeing her – in his mind he sees the shock and anguish overwhelming Jack's features.

"You have a task to do," Norrington says. "Though it separates you— I'm not sure I'm envious, Mister Turner, but neither can I say I'm relieved to merely..." he waves a hand at the dinghies, "float away."

A few of the boats have filled with spirits and drift away, invisible currents leading the souls on the correct path. Will listens to the sea calming its charges and welcoming them to the realm beyond death. He can still feel the fear and anxiety of the passengers on board but feels assured that they will be comforted. Norrington's soul is unlike the others, though – full of frustration and resistance.

_"You will know dem dat belong wit' de crew, 'n dem dat might not be prepared to die."_ The memory of Tia's voice seems to reach the _Dutchman_ and she responds. The ship eagerly grasps at him, assuring him that she can lend the power to enable the impossible. Will considers the offering, unsure if he has the right to decide such things. The _Dutchman_ whispers that he is the captain, now, the ferryman watching over the gates between life and death; as such, he is granted certain privileges, as long as the power is not abused.

Norrington straightens up with a deep breath. He exhales slowly and adjusts his ponytail. "Well, then. I expect this is where we part for good."

Will reaches out a hand to stay the man. "Wait." He turns to face Norrington; he's impressed when the other doesn't flinch away from his stare. "Do you really feel it's your time?"

A suspicious look creeps into Norrington's expression. "I don't believe I understand."

"You haven't corrected your wrongs." Will encircles the man's wrist in a tight hold. "The lessons learned are better put to practice than merely remembered. If returned, will you seek out the path opened to you?"

"What?" Norrington looks a little dazed.

"You've continued to love her," Will says quietly. "Despite everything, you love her. That's more than I can say. If I return you, will you seek her out and find if she is the one you want to follow? Elizabeth invited you to escape, it seems to me you already made your decision but were hindered by my father." He tugs the man closer until there's barely a breath between them. "Do you want this chance?"

For impossibly long seconds, Norrington stares at him in wide-eyed wonder. Will sees fears in the man's eyes for the first time, and for some reason he feels relieved.

Finally Norrington breathes, "Yes."

Will dreams of an endless beach; white sand stretches as far as the eye can see, piling into dunes a few yards from the tide line. His feet sink into wet sand as he slowly walks in the surf. He hesitates to step beyond the water, afraid that he won't be able to.

There is no ship waiting in the distance, only him, the beach, the sky, and the sea. He feels a little unnerved that he appears to be in the Locker, he isn't sure why he's here. The tide fills the imprints of his feet. When he tries walking backwards to watch his vanishing tracks, he feels like a ghost.

"De rules don' apply here, William." Tia Dalma's heavily accented voice is strangely welcoming. He turns to see her standing on dry sand a short distance away. "Come join me." She holds out a hand, beckoning.

Hesitantly Will steps away from the surf. When nothing untoward happens, he continues to approach. "Tia," he greets as he takes her hand. "Is there a reason for your visit?"

She leans into him, smiling broadly with half-lidded eyes. "Is a lonely life on de sea. I don' wan' you slippin' from him heart."

"What?" Will chooses to ignore how Tia's fingers caress his hand and pull him ever closer until their breaths intermingle. Her dark eyes trap him and though he doesn't feel himself falling into the gaze, he cannot look away.

"Yers no' de only heart lock away," she confides. "I won' see you suffer Davy Jones' fate. An' mebbe I known you an' fair Jack before."

Feeling very confused, Will asks, "What's Jack got to do with anything?"

Instead of answering, Tia leads him into a kiss, firm and gentle. Although startled, Will doesn't push her away. She presses his hand to her breast and with her other hand slips into his open shirt and strokes the long scar. She runs her fingertips along his ribs and traces invisible patterns over his stomach. All the while she continues to kiss him, mouth slowly working to part his lips and slip her tongue inside. He eventually moves, surprising himself when he wraps an arm around her and presses closer. She lets go of his hand and explores his body with more determination.

Will palms her breast, cupping the softness and gently stroking his thumb over the bare skin not covered by her dress. Tia moans softly into his mouth, encouraging. Hesitantly, he pushes her bodice down. His fingers travel the exposed flesh with a light touch; she shivers. Her hands travel to his belt and make quick work of it, allowing her easier access to his breeches. When she first strokes him through his clothes, Will gasps and breaks away from the kiss. His eyes shut tightly, suddenly frightened to see the woman doing this to him. He thinks of Elizabeth, his wife, the only woman he's lain with. Tia seems to sense his fear and her caresses gentle. She murmurs something indistinguishable into his ear.

He had not been completely unfamiliar with sex when he consummated his marriage, but he had never been involved with a woman in that way. In the strained months between the kraken and the Locker, he had discovered many of the distractions offered in port, particularly where pirates were welcome. In dark alleys and cramped backrooms he learned the relief of visceral contact between men. Most encounters included frenzied jerk-offs or pricks in mouths. A time or two he'd taken a man over a barrel and watched in fascination how his cock disappeared into another man's body. Despite numerous offers, he never let himself be taken in that way, though a few times his partner had fingered his hole. Even while he was angry and lost in a turmoil of emotions over Elizabeth, he had not betrayed her by laying with another woman, nor had he felt much tempted by the offers he received.

Now Tia presses against him, bare breasts flattening against his chest. He can feel a nipple against his sternum and is acutely aware of her thigh between his legs, her hand at his ass, and the other hand brushing the skin above his breeches. He knows she is fascinated by him, although he isn't sure why, and can feel her desire to _know_ him in this way; he also knows that she will not force him into this or protest if he declines. Only, he isn't sure if he wants to turn her away.

After some time, she removes her hand from his waist and strokes her fingers over his cheek. She coaxes him to meet her stare. When their eyes meet, she says, "You owe me not'ing, William Turner." Her hand moves to his chest, pressing against the scar marking where his heart used to beat. "You desire devotion 'n I be no man's 'only.' Whad do you wan'?" she whispers. "Your heart no' lost, feel id 'n find wha' id tell you."

"Why?" he asks, suddenly exhausted.

"Calypso pays her debts," she says without further explanation.

The last thing he sees before he wakes is her smile and eyes lit with a spark of anticipation.

Before the sun gets very high, Will guides the _Dutchman_ towards the quiet song he recognizes belongs to the _Black Pearl_. He realizes now that he's heard her before when alone with her captain.

While he watches the pirate crew scramble about in surprise, Norrington climbs the stairs to join him. Will turns to face the man, knowing they have words to say before their parting.

"Turner..." Norrington pauses for a breath, then starts again, "Will. I've been granted more chances than is my due... I thank you. This one I will not waste." He seems about to say more but closes his mouth and glances away.

"Best of luck." Will inclines his head towards the _Pearl_ from which he can now hear a handful of familiar voices. "Do you care to swim or should I call one of the crew to take you over?" Norrington's horrified expression answers that. Will feels a tiny smile grace his lips. "Very well, you should be on your way, I've work to do."

Norrington offers a slight bow before turning away. Will watches him until he reaches the main deck, then approaches the rail to stare across the small distance of sea separating him from the _Pearl_. His gaze skips over most of the crew, momentarily noting Gibbs and Cotton and Marty, Pintel and Raggetti – all portraying surprise and a little fear. For a moment he eyes Barbossa's dispassionate face – underneath the calm exterior, Will can tell the man is busy scheming and trying to fit this new situation into his plans. He catches a glimpse of Elizabeth before she slips behind the men – her love warms him, but her heartache and a sense of growing distance stings.

At the _Pearl's_ helm there is one man who meets his gaze.

Will stares at the other captain and remembers how many questions he'd wanted to ask. There is much left unsaid between them, he knows, and now it will remain that way. After a while, Jack seems to gather himself together, adapting his familiar self-assured manner. The pirate swaggers to the railing and hollers, "No dead o'er here, mate!"

With effort Will is able to speak around the suffocating lump in his throat. "I've a delivery. There'd been a mistake." He indicates with his chin the man swimming away from the _Dutchman_. "I'm trusting you not to send him immediately back to me."

Despite the recognizable posture of the _Pearl's_ captain, there's something strange about Jack. From this distance Will cannot see the other man's eyes clearly, but he can feel an emotional weight in that gaze and he aches with a sudden desire to understand. He fights against the urge to go to the other ship and demand that Jack explain everything—Why let Elizabeth distract him and leave him to sink? Why not attempt retribution for that? What had it been like in the Locker? What was his history with Beckett? Why pass up his chance at immortality? What was he thinking when Jones stabbed Will?

_Why does it hurt more to look at you than it does when I look at her?_ he wonders. Will sucks in his breath, startled by the thought. The _Dutchman_ murmurs that she can help him find the answers, but he's terrified to explore why losing Jack is more difficult to accept than leaving his wife.

Someone shouts Norrington's name in surprise and Will can tear himself away from Jack's hypnotizing stare. He looks to be sure the former commodore reaches the ship. As soon as the _Pearl_ organizes to take the man aboard, Will turns to his crew and calls them to make ready. He's prepared to let the _Dutchman_ set out right away for their next call, leaving the others once again with no goodbye. Fate seems not to want it that way.

"Will!" Jack's voice, not Elizabeth's. Reluctantly Will turns his head and is captured by the intent gaze. The pirate seems as startled as everyone else to have spoken. The crew on the _Pearl_ have their eyes on the him, even Will's men stop and glance between the two captains.

Will knows he should say something, even if it's a simple farewell. The thought of silence between them reminds him of the long months without Jack – before Beckett's arrival and after the _Pearl's_ sinking. If he missed the man then, he doesn't know how he will cope during the innumerable years ahead. _This would be so much easier,_ he thinks, _if removing the heart actually meant becoming numb._ His ship moans sorrowfully beneath him, her worry washing over hims.

For a moment he's lost in the _Dutchman's_ echo of remembered emotions from her previous captain. When Will's mind clears he finds himself staring into wide, dark eyes from a startlingly close distance. Stunned, he looks over his shoulder to see his father watching him from the _Dutchman_.

"Will..." Jack's voice is accompanied by a tentative touch. Will flinches away, knowing that physical contact will undo him. He meets the other man's stare and sees more than he wants to know.

_Jesus. Don't do this to me!_

Jack drops his hand and licks his lips. After a few failed attempts he says, "Goin' to shove off withou' even a wave?" The tone is falsely light, doing nothing to mask the emotions the pirate unwittingly projects.

Pushing through the dizzying whirl of the other man's inner thoughts, Will manages, "Alright. This is goodbye, then."

The dark eyes flash with wounded anger for a moment before a cool mask falls into place. Jack tilts his chin up and purses his lips for a moment, considering. "Hmm. See you're already gettin' used to the heartless thing." His hands dance in the air, motioning briefly to where his own heart is located. "I 'spect you'll be off doin' deathly guidin', then?" Will says nothing, too busy suppressing the sting in his chest. "Righ'. Hope I won't be seein' you too soon, mate." Jack's calm expression almost breaks at that. "Oh, and you're welcome, by the way."

Will feels all the words he could and should say jam in his throat. The easiest are, "Thank you." He murmurs the phrase and feels a combination of relief and sadness from Jack. In the back of his mind, Will can hear the souls needing guidance calling for him, but they are dim in comparison to the here and now. "I... Jack." He shuts his eyes against deep affection and heartache pushing him like a physical blow. "Damnit," he hisses quietly, "stop doing that!"

He opens his eyes to Jack's confused expression, watches it morph into a look of surprise as he moves closer, and then Will sees nothing but is keenly aware of physical sensation. Jack's facial hair scrapes his nose and chin as he presses his lips to Jack's. The pirate recovers quickly and responds, mouth open and hungry. There's a rush of desire and hope that Will can accept only for a few moments. He feels like sobbing when Jack lays his hands on Will's body.

_You can't!_ Will jerks himself back, denying the unexpected surge of emotion. His skin burns where he'd touched moustache and beard, a small distraction when he knows he can't stay. He stares at Jack for a moment longer, then steps away, his next footfall landing on the _Dutchman's_ deck.

Turning abruptly from the sight of the _Pearl_, he shouts, "Make sail!"

As the _Dutchman_ reluctantly dives into the sea, he staggers against a pain that cuts deeper than Jones' blade. "Jack..." He allows the ship to wrap him in an embrace that provides a barrier against the rest of the world.

For days no one bothers him. Will calls out the occasional order, but the crew has been doing their task since before he crossed the Atlantic from England; they don't require much direction. Mostly he converses quietly with the ship and navigates the lost souls calling for help.

Inevitably the peace is broken. On the way to his cabin one night, Bootstrap catches up with him. Will allows the company halfheartedly and heads to the liquor cabinet instead of his bed. They sit across from one another at a table nestled into a niche close to the organ dominating the far end of the room. Bootstrap accepts the glass of rum but doesn't drink until Will has filled his own.

Will waits silently, refusing to prompt the conversation. Eventually Bootstrap relents.

"Was 'e why you didn't say goodbye?" Will snorts. His father continues, "I didn't know. You only talked 'bout Elizabeth."

Swallowing the remaining contents of his glass, Will can avoid answering for a few moments. He pours more rum with a scornful twist of his lips. "That's because there's only been Elizabeth." He lifts his glass in a mock salute to his naiveté and meets his father's gaze. "For nearly a decade I could only dream of her. She drove away the nightmares of a storm and a ship with tattered black sails. I enjoyed my work, the town was friendly enough, and I could look up the hill to the governor's house – and there sat my dream. What more could I want?"

Bootstrap watches him wearily, eyes full of remorse. Will fights the urge to shout that there is nothing to mourn; he doesn't long for those days, he feels mortified to remember how oblivious and blindly love-struck he'd been. "I understood nothing of the world before Port Royale was attacked. The governor saw that I received a few years of education before I began my full apprenticeship, but words on a page... If I read about the _Dutchman_, do you think I could actually believe it? I never _lived_," he confesses quietly, staring into his glass. "Circumstances led me to make arrangements with pirates. I didn't like Jack, but I didn't _not_ like him, either."

"Slipperier than a mermaid," Bootstrap says with a slight smile.

"Every time I thought he'd given me up, he'd turn around and prove me wrong. I trusted him, decided I owed him his life for saving Elizabeth's and my own." The burn of old anger turns his stomach. "So when we next met I trusted him when he sent me to Jones." Will's fingers tighten around his glass. "I ignored my instincts warning of the danger. I truly believed that if anything were to happen, he'd bring me out of it." He chuckles weakly, using bitterness to cover the pain.

Bootstrap stares into his rum. "Many a desperate man lookin' to hold off death done plenty o' reckless things."

Will takes a long drink. "Women, too." Anger flares again, this time at someone else. "She killed him. Elizabeth bound him to the mast so he couldn't escape. And the kraken..." He remembers all too clearly the stench of burnt tentacles and dead men surrounding him. The air had been thick with death. He closes his eyes and can see the two people he considers most important kissing. Knowing the truth, he can now imagine how Elizabeth's hands roamed lower and her body pressed in; Jack backed up, one hand behind him for balance before they hit the mast.

"We changed. I began to truly see the world when I watched Jack waiting for the hangman's noose. The events Beckett set into motion confirmed it was time to look around."

"What did you find?"

He thinks about his desperate search for Jack after the interrupted wedding. He remembers the frustrated affection that had followed him during that time, even when he'd woken trussed up and hanging from a pole. The strange thump sound of Jones' walk lingers in his mind, and he recalls the chill that made his spine tingle when he first heard it. His back stings with remembered pain even as his mind jumps ahead to gaining the key and watching the kraken devour a ship from beneath his feet. On an isolated strip of land he'd dueled two men in attempts of claiming a mythical heart, only to discover later that his own had been misplaced when Jones' went missing. The memory of traveling upriver to Tia Dalma's overwhelms him for a moment with the hundreds of candles and mournful faces. He sees a flash of Elizabeth's pale, guilty face before Barbossa descended the stairs. He remembers the arguments and planning, the long trip to Singapore, and even more arguing—

"Will?" The captain pulls away from the memories with an effort. Bootstrap's aged face is full of concern. "Lad, what's on your mind?"

It's not so much what's in his mind that disturbs him. The source is not a thought or idea. The moment Jack touched him, Will felt it all – a turmoil of emotions with an intensity he didn't expect. Even now the particularly strong emotions continue to haunt him. He isn't ready to explain his discovery.

The scenery of his dream changes, melting away to reveal his cabin. Will sits up and peers into dark shadows, sensing he is not alone. A candle flickers to life near the organ and its light illuminates Tia Dalma sitting on the bench. She cups the flame in her hands and lifts it to her lips. With a gentle blow, the other candles scattered around the room ignite. Apparently satisfied, Tia smiles at him. The fingers of one hand caress the ivory keys.

"Dere's chaos in dat heart of yours." She presses one of the keys and a mournful note fills the air. "De Duchess, she ache wid you. Feel her?" He nods. Her expression gentles as she stands. "My William. So much love in him heart. Dey reach for dat, knowin' you'll understand." She glides closer to stand beside his bed.

"Understand what? Their pain? I don't need to _feel_ in order to—"

"Shh." Tia rests her fingers against his lips. "No' forever. You will learn 'ow to block some t'ings." She removes her fingers from his lips in favor of stroking his hair. "Dest'ny be cruel to you."

Will offers a faint smile. "Seems pointless to argue what's already been established."

Tia kisses his forehead and Will closes his eyes as calm washes over him. "I know you fear de pain. You mus'nt hide from id, else suffer me Davy's fate."

Eyes still closed, Will whispers, "Please, make it go away."

"I ken't, William." She cradles his head in her arms and kisses his cheek. "Bu' if you ken gid rid of some worry, de pain ken lessen." Her voice resonates with power. "Search your heart 'n accept ids desires."

He leans into her, for a moment able to pretend that the woman holding him is Elizabeth. He wishes the fantasy actually provided comfort.

"Whad do you wan', Cap'tan?" Tia eases him onto his back, her hand brushing over his face as she murmurs something in a foreign tongue. Her hair falls forward, teasing the skin of his throat. Though he doesn't understand her words, he can feel their effect. The _Dutchman_ calls to him, opening her arms as the song of the sea grows louder in his ears. Another voice begins to speak, much softer than the others as if from a great distance.

"De ships always know dere cap'tans," Tia whispers.

The _Dutchman_ urges him to reach for the other's call, listen carefully for the faraway ship. Although he's afraid, he lets his ship guide him. The ocean is full of voices – lost souls, living spirits, other ships, and all of nature's creatures. He's brought up short by the siren call of the _Black Pearl_.

The _Pearl_ greets him eagerly, projecting relief and joy at his presence. Her song is little more intelligible than her captain's emotions that continue to haunt Will. The _Dutchman_ intervenes to calm the flood of images and feelings. Almost like a human, _Pearl_ seems to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. When she tries again, Will can feel wind against his skin and smooth wood beneath his feet.

Standing at the _Pearl's_ helm, Jack Sparrow leans into the ship. Will can feel the other man reaching out to his ship, seeking her support and guidance. The pirate's gaze is locked on the horizon where the sun's earliest rays have appeared. A frown decorates his lips and his hands seem to rest listlessly on the wheel pegs. Will hangs back despite both ships urging him to step forward.

_No,_ he thinks. _Please don't. I can't do this—I'm not ready._

Jack reacts at the _Pearl's_ sorrowful moan. "Wha' is it, luv?" He strokes the wheel lovingly. "Don't fret 'bout ol' Jack. 'Aven't we fared worse weather?" The smile that touches his face is far from confident. He takes a deep breath and Will feels the other's emotions wash out in the exhale.

Closing his eyes, Will swallows back his own feelings that threaten to respond. _I don't want to know this. Why are you punishing me?_

The _Dutchman_ whispers that he is not being punished; Will can't quite believe her when the _Pearl_ begins to weep quietly. He watches as Jack's frown deepens with concern.

"You're worryin' me, luv. Come now, tell us wha's about."

_Pearl_ abruptly shoves Will violently away. The _Dutchman's_ invisible hands run over his body to ensure he's unharmed. He awakes and lays shuddering in his bed, gut twisting painfully at the raw emotions _Pearl_ left him.

His ship rocks unsteadily in reaction to his mood. He's suddenly angry – with himself for listening to the strange whisperings of ship spirits; at Tia for suggesting he still has a heart to heed; at the _Pearl_ for dumping him with a storm of emotions; and with Jack for the agony he instigated.

In the back of his mind he hears Tia telling him not to blame Jack. Will finds it easier to ignore her.

He rises from bed, determinedly ignoring the lingering shivers and haunting echoes of the _Pearl_. The _Dutchman_ groans as he storms from the cabin on the way to the helm. She doesn't fight her captain when he directs her to press on with their work.

January 30, 2008 – February 11, 2008


End file.
